I fuck her with my fingers, and she rides it beautifully, grinding her clit into the heel of my palm, her head tipped back, eyes squeezed closed as she continues that climb.
Why fear damnation, indeed, I think as her lips part and she moans loud enough for it to echo in the small space of the elevator, when damnation looks so good on her.
The elevator has descended and ascended twice, doors opening both times. If anyone saw I didn’t notice, too caught up in the image before me. She was art in the purest form.
“Kingston,” she breathes, her hips moving faster. I don’t need more words, I give her what she’s silently begging me for. My fingers thrust harder, faster, curling slightly to rub up against that spot and I push my heel hard into her clit, hard enough for it to hurt but give her that thin line between pleasure and pain that I know gets her off every damn time.
“Yes, fuck, yes,” she chants and then shatters, her pussy convulsing around my fingers.
My fingers still buried inside, I lean and capture the lobe of her ear between my teeth, “You’re fucking beautiful when you come for me.”
She slumps against me, breathing hard. I pull from her pussy, fingers slick with her arousal and step back. She leans heavily on the wall, watching me from beneath hooded eyes as I lift my hand to suck my fingers, “and you taste fucking divine.”
Her lips part, ready to say more, but the doors open to the foyer of the penthouse and I guide her out, taking her to my room. It was still relatively early, but she was tired and lagging. We don’t stay here, always at hers and I was doing it to keep her in control, to give her that safety net but she’s trying to pull away and I wasn’t going to let her go.
She doesn’t fight me as I carefully undress her, leaving her in only a pair of panties and then pull one of my t-shirts over her frame. She falls into my bed, drowning in the soft mattress, sheets and pillows and curls up, tucking the duvet around her. She groans, “This bed feels like a cloud.” She says sleepily.
I pull on a pair of sweats, “sleep, Eleanor, I’ll be through in a bit.”
She nods, eyes closed. It won’t be long before she’s asleep, so I turn off the lights and join Ace and Micha in the den. Both are nursing glasses of bourbon.
“Any news on the bugs?” I ask.
“Not yet but they’re getting close.”
I nod but it made me uneasy. It had been an unusually long time and I still hadn’t figured out how Tobias knew they were there, let alone where they were.
I had some of the best hackers in the business, the fact that they couldn’t get past the new encryption was ringing all sorts of warning bells in my head.
“Your girl good?” Micha asks, changing the subject.
I pour myself two fingers of the bourbon and take a seat in my armchair, nodding my head, “Resting.”
“Isobel likes her,” he says.
I hadn’t seen Isobel since she brought Eleanor up and didn’t tell me.
“And you know this how?”
“She told me, but then you know Isobel, she always has a woman’s back, regardless.”
I nod my agreement and take a sip, “What is she doing at the moment?”
“Keeping busy, she’s spoken to those American’s a lot this week, talking about the operation going on over there. They’ve busted thirty-seven sex rings so far.”
I nod, “That’s good, and the cops are staying off their back?”
Micha scoffs, “As if Silver would have it any other way.”
At least one part of my plan was still running as planned. I couldn’t be everywhere at once and while the alliance with the American’s was tentative at best, they would do it right.
Now just to take out the heads and bring the whole thing tumbling down.
I down the rest of my drink and stand.
“Where are you going?”
“I have a woman in my bed whose company I much prefer to you arseholes, we’ll catch up tomorrow.”
I leave to their chuckles and find my way back to Eleanor.
As expected, she’s asleep, curled up tight beneath the sheets but diagonal, with her face buried into my pillow.
I sigh, a problem. She was a problem.
I hadn’t anticipated her, and I made plans for everything. She was just fun to start with, an innocent to corrupt but now? Now she was so much more.
I climb onto my side of the bed, gently moving her until her face is on the soft spot between my shoulder and neck and wrap my arm around her. She molds to the shape of my body, burying her face into me further and seems to completely relax, melting into me. We had shared a bed every night for a week, but it truly felt like a lifetime. I didn’t want to sleep without her, and I had tried. The one night I decided it was enough, I would stop, I tossed, and I turned for hours before I grew so frustrated, I threw on a pair of sweats and drove to her apartment only to find her curled on the couch. I carried her to bed and didn’t stay away again.
Sleep is easier when she is here. Sleep is peaceful.
And so, I hold her, running my hand down her spine.
She stirs and fidgets, moving her arm until her hand rests on my abdomen.
“Kingston,” she mumbles.
“I’m here.”
Her fingernails bite just a little before her hand starts to travel. I capture her wrist.
“Sleep, Eleanor,” I tell her even if my cock immediately responds to her plans. There was never enough. I wanted it all. To be buried in her twenty-four seven, to have her taste on my tongue and scent on my skin. I wanted to show her it all. Give it all. But she needed to rest now.
We had time.
“But,” she starts.
“Sleep, we’ll revisit this in the morning,” I kiss her forehead and hold her hand as she sighs and rests again.
I fall asleep with her tucked against me, in a place she’s clearly always belonged.
I sleep so deeply I don’t feel her stir and then get up. I don’t hear it when she strips from my shirt and leaves it folded on my dresser, dressing in her own clothes or when she sneaks out, closing the door behind her.
I wake to the empty bed, now cold where she used to be. It’s barely eight A.M and when I get up to search for her, she’s nowhere in the penthouse.
I check my phone for a message, but nothing has come through, and then my eyes snag on the note next to a coffee mug placed by my coffee machine.
Her writing is neat, elegant and all it says is one word. Sorry.
Oh, she would be sorry.
She thinks she can just leave? I scoff, I’ve chased her before, I have no problem chasing her again, only this time, I’m going to get creative.